


Enough Cheek

by girlwiththeradishearrings



Category: The Book Thief - Markus Zusak
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Teacher-Student Relationship, i suppose this could be categorized as "cute" lord help me, max and his thermos full of pea soup oh dear, these two hurt me in my soft little heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 11:25:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1467742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlwiththeradishearrings/pseuds/girlwiththeradishearrings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Max works as a professor at university and Liesel happens to be his student... under rather odd circumstances. </p>
<p>“You’re awful,” he states in what he hopes is a stern tone.<br/>“You should have gotten me transferred. Bad move on your part.” Liesel adds cheekily, “Sir.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enough Cheek

“Hey, Max.” Liesel plops down on the chair opposing his rickety desk. She jams one leg up onto the seat, wedging her heel against her bottom, appearing properly ruffled. Her braid has unfurled and the sweater she’s wearing is frizzled and stretched, slipping persistently off her bony shoulders.

“You really shouldn’t do that, you know,” he points out, as she retrieves a bruised apple from her bag. She plucks his letter opener from the pen jar on his desk, substituting it for a knife.

“Hmm?” She doesn’t look up, intent on the task at hand. Wielding the dull blade, she uses it to carve a slice from the apple. He watches her tongue wrap press against the underside, lips pursing around the slice of fruit, snatching it away into her mouth.

“You shouldn’t call me that. I’m still your professor.” Her lips pucker into a smirk as she chews her apple, eyes meandering their way down his face. He hasn’t shaved in a few days and his reading glasses rest on the bags beneath his eyes, barely tilting down the scarp of his cheekbones. Liesel can see the collar of his shirt is crumpled and the first button on his woolen vest is undone, leaving it to sag open. Liesel has found a strange form of comfort when he looks like this. It reminds her of battered paperbacks (his name scribed in tight lettering on the inside), late night coffee breaks in the cramped kitchen (he takes milk and three spoons of sugar), and the weight of him causing the floorboards to creak as he passes her door in the tiny hall.

He wears the exhaustion of academia well.

Liesel hums in contemplation and stashes the chunk of apple into her cheek so she can speak. “Since when, Vandenburg? Is that before or after you practically climbed into bed with me?”

Max blushes something horrid, heat crawling up his neck. “That was an accident, Meminger. It was late… I had been grading papers all night. You didn’t close your door—it was a simple mistake. Don’t--” His cheeks turn a lively shade of scarlet. As if someone had drip-fed his skin watercolor and watched it spread. Liesel carves out another slab of apple and sneaks it into her mouth, suppressed laughter growling inside her chest. Max scrapes his hair back preemptively when he leans forward, knowing it would fall into his eyes. “You’re awful,” he states in what he hopes is a stern tone.

“You should have gotten me transferred. Bad move on your part.” Liesel adds cheekily, “ _Sir_.”

Max shoots her an aggravated look, shuffling the papers on his desk. His fingers hold the stack too tightly and the documents crinkle. “How was I supposed to know my flat-mate would end up taking my class? I just answered the advert. And it’s not like there’re a ton of rooms available for board in these parts. Besides,” he adds, mustering up his dignity, “Hans is a family friend.”

Liesel licks a drop of juice lingering at the corner of her mouth. Her lips scrunch with barely suppressed amusement. “I got the short end of the stick, so don’t go feeling sorry for yourself.” He leans, if possible, further forward, so that his hunched posture consigns his breastbone into the desk’s edge with a sharp bite. He looks aghast, eyebrows twitching to their furrow.

“How could you _possibly_ get off worse than me in this deal? You take up all the hot water, never return _any_ of _my_ books, and always wake me up with that damn accordion.”

Liesel tugs the sweater back up the slope of her shoulder and shifts legs in the chair. Max doesn’t understand why she can’t sit normally in a chair. Even in class, he can sense her shifting her legs during his lectures. He finds it extremely distracting, if not a bit endearing.

Palming the half-eaten fruit, Liesel rotates her wrist as she hacks more of the apple off with his letter opener. “Well, you take all of Rosa’s soup--” she nods sarcastically to the red thermos on the desk.

“You hate her soup.” Max points out, snorting in disbelief.

“--And that’s not me playing the accordion, it’s Hans, so your false accusations hold no ground here, Max.”

“ _Meminger_ ,” he insists.

“ _Professor_ ,” she retorts, raising a brow in challenge. He shuffles the papers again unnecessarily and rolls his eyes, unable to resist the grin that teases its way onto his mouth. 

**Author's Note:**

> I love them to bits, hope it was comfy and fluffy for you all :)
> 
> (Not sure if this will be elaborated on or not...? I have a few more scenes I plan on writing into this dynamic but I'm so damn unreliable, who the fuck knows?)


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